Death Row
My heart pounded in my chest.
As I followed behind Leviathan, an uncontrollable fear surged through me. Every instinct screamed to run—anywhere, right now. But the still-locked handcuffs and shackles bound more than just my body. They shackled my will as well, whispering that escape was impossible, chaining my heart along with my limbs.
"Kneel on the auditorium floor."
"Yes."
The auditorium sat near the entrance to the execution area. It was a vast empty space like an open lot, with a raised platform at the front and a screen mounted behind it—like a miniature festival venue. We gathered there. A few more inmates from other cells filed in afterward.
Among them I spotted a familiar face from my intake group: A688.
"…."
I wanted to at least exchange a glance of greeting, but she looked utterly haggard. Her entire body was mottled red and purple. Considering the previous night's torture had treated her like a human punching bag, the marks spoke of a long, brutal session. In the end I gave up on any greeting and simply sat on the floor as ordered.
The kneeling posture had become second nature. At first my legs would go numb and the position felt awkward, but after weeks of inmate life with almost no rest, it had started to feel almost comfortable.
"All right. Everyone here?"
The guards mounted the platform. Warden Diabolos and six officers—seven in total—filled the stage completely. The number of inmates kneeling in the open space was not much larger. Four from Cell 2. Four from our Cell 3. That was every inmate who had been dragged here.
Only a couple of us looked puzzled by the small turnout. Myself and one other. The rest bit their lips and stared at the platform with taut, anxious faces.
"I will now announce the death-row inmates."
"…."
Diabolos stood at the center of the platform and raised a hologram from the terminal on his wrist. It displayed the personal data of every inmate present, along with the ID photos we had submitted before incarceration—real names, ages, hometowns, everything. At the bottom of each entry, the demerit points accumulated over the past month glowed in red.
I was too far away to read the numbers clearly, but two of them stood out by sheer digit count: Jaehee from our cell and A579 from Cell 2. Those two were safely exempt.
"As you know, the two cells brought here each contain death-row candidates. With the new special-execution system in place, we officers reviewed everyone who exceeded the baseline of three hundred points. As a result, both a regular death-row inmate and special-execution subjects have been selected from among you."
"…."
"Of course that raised a priority issue… so at the meeting we decided that the death-row slot would go to whoever held the highest demerit total after the special-execution candidates were set aside. The other cells will be informed later by the officers present… In any case, the outcome is as follows."
Diabolos stretched the announcement out like a principal's morning lecture, then suddenly enlarged three of the floating holograms.
First place: A691, Kim Yejin. Her total stood at a staggering 812 points. Even accounting for the days she had spent locked in solitary and thus exempt from further demerits, the number was monstrous.
Second was me. Five hundred two points. After racking up three hundred in a single labor shift, I had done everything I could to avoid more, yet joint-liability penalties and the lingering exhaustion that made me miss meal-time deadlines had still piled a few more on top.
And last… my fellow intake, A688. Four hundred ninety-seven points. Maybe it was her small frame. I had watched her demerits creep upward during every training session and felt a constant unease. In the end she had landed in the top three across the entire prison. Then again, she had started with a higher baseline than most of us; perhaps this ending had been inevitable from the start.
"Ah…!"
"Hoo… hoo. Haa."
"Hic…."
The three profiles hanging in the air drew a range of reactions. Some exhaled in pure relief. Others, like Luia, crumpled into worried grimaces. Jaehee and A579 from Cell 2 kept their faces carefully blank. Everyone absorbed the result in their own way.
And me…
So it really came to this.
That was all I could think. From the moment I took that massive hit during labor, through the electric torture and solitary, through the slow drip of extra points no matter how hard I tried—I had known the odds of landing on this month's death list were high. How many nights had Jaehee and Luia had to comfort me?
With Yejin's selection for special execution already locked in, the next-highest total—mine—was almost guaranteed to take the regular death-row slot. I felt a twinge of regret that A688 had also been pulled into special execution, but looking at it another way, my becoming the death-row inmate was what had spared her the full sentence. It felt like I had repaid a small debt, and that thought brought a measure of comfort.
Yeah. This is enough.
"Coincidentally, both of the newest arrivals have ended up on the execution list. A688 in particular still carried residual points from before, but for someone with her experience the attitude was far too lacking. Reflect on that."
"…Yes."
"All right. Move out. Today's special executions and the regular execution will all take place in the same location. Marmon, Leviathan."
"Yes."
"Prepare the condemned."
"Yes!"
The moment Diabolos gave the order, the assigned officers approached the condemned from their own cells.
"A691. A713. On your feet."
"…."
Yejin and I rose. Leviathan pulled something from his back pocket and unfolded it—a black leather hood. No extra restraints, just a bag meant to block vision, the mouth drawn shut by a cord. What grated was the single character painted across the front in blood-red:
The character for death. Exactly the kind of hood medieval executioners once forced over the heads of the condemned.
First Yejin's head, then mine. The leather was opaque, yet the red character still swam faintly before my eyes.
"Move."
A chain was clipped around my neck. It led forward to something—or someone. From the way it tugged, I knew it was Yejin. Leviathan in front, then Yejin, then me being led like livestock. Another chain snapped onto the back of my collar and connected to someone behind. Only one inmate left. It had to be A688.
— Clack. Clatter. Clink.
The chains dragged as we walked. We placed each step carefully, following wherever the officers led.
"The remaining inmates will watch their comrades die on the screen until the executions are finished."
Just before we left the auditorium, Diabolos's voice rang out. A cruel order for those left behind. Our cellmates would be forced to sit in that hall and watch the entire thing. After everything we had already endured, that alone would be its own kind of hell—being made to witness a friend's suffering. Even if I came to regret it later, I was suddenly grateful not to be among them.
"…."
We kept walking. The path to the execution ground I had visited once before still felt unfamiliar, and I had no desire for it to become familiar. Yet because I had been there, the route unspooled in my mind—the corridors, the turns…
"We are entering the execution ground. The floor is dirt, so watch your step. Fall, and you will receive demerits toward the next execution right where you drop."
"…."
We reached the iron gate.
— Clang.
The bars swung open and the surface underfoot changed from asphalt to bare earth. The same pit we had dug with pickaxes only days ago—the place that had loaded me with the bulk of the points that put me here. A space so terrifying it still haunted my nightmares, and now I was walking back into it as a condemned prisoner. The cold rising from the ground alone felt cold enough to freeze my heart solid.
I was terrified. My legs shook so hard I could barely walk. But I had to keep moving. Collapse here and the road to the next execution would only grow shorter. So I stripped away every scrap of fear I could and forced myself forward with everything I had left.
— Crack. Pop.
Somewhere nearby, something sizzled and spat, carrying the smell of smoke. Had they lit a bonfire just for atmosphere?
"They're here?"
"Yes, Asmode."
"Call me unnie… never mind. Everything's ready."
"You're managing this place as well?"
"Heh. Even so, a disciplinary… no, wait. Anyway, I couldn't exactly do it myself, could I? Today's executioners are Ba'al oppa and Lucifer. They'll be here soon."
Blinded by the hood, I could only listen to the chilling exchange between Marmon, Leviathan, and Asmode. Moments later, just as she had said, Ba'al's and Lucifer's voices arrived.
"Ready?"
"All set."
"Good. Then let's begin. Asmode and Leviathan, string up A713. Marmon, take A691. A688 is ours."
"Yes."
String up…? Where?
Unable to see, the dread only swelled. While I stood frozen, the cuffs, shackles, and neck chain were unlocked. Leviathan took my arm and led me somewhere.
"Arms out."
"Ah… yes."
I spread my arms wide. Something solid pressed against the backs of my hands. Then I was bound. Whatever it was—heavy, thick, like a post—locked my wrists so that my arms stayed stretched to either side. Next came my legs. A rope cinched across mid-thigh, then above the knee, below the knee, around the calves, and finally the ankles. All of it was fixed to whatever stood behind me.
This… this isn't a cross, is it?
The posture fed the rising panic. I wasn't religious, but I knew the stories. If they were reenacting that scene… no. It couldn't be.
I held my breath against the flood of dread.
A short while later:
"We will now carry out the executions."
Ba'al's shout rang out and the hood was yanked from my head.
"Ugh…!"
Blinding light. Outdoors, under a clear morning sky, the sunlight stabbed my eyes. Thankfully the hood had been on only a short time; my vision recovered quickly.
And the sight that greeted me…
"…."
Just as I had feared. We were bound to crosses.
Yejin filled my view first. She was fixed in the same posture, arms outstretched on a cross whose beam was thicker than our waists. A slanted footrest sat beneath her, but the angle was far too steep to actually stand on. Three of us hung like that. When I turned my head I saw A688 on her own cross as well.
And then it hit me.
These were the pits we had dug.
"Haha. Sick bastards. Fuck."
"Shut your mouth, A691."
Yejin had realized it too; she clicked her tongue while looking at me. The cross she hung from was planted in the very hole she had sweated and bled to dig. Mine was no different. When I glanced down I saw the pit I myself had carved out of the earth. I never imagined I would end up hanging over it.
"…All right, condemned. For one full month you ignored your duties and broke the rules as you pleased. This is the hour of your punishment. Any last words?"
Ba'al's rough face waited for an answer. None came. A688 was trembling too hard to speak. Yejin made a show of clicking her tongue and refusing. I had nothing to say either, so I simply shook my head.
"Fine. Before we begin, your sentences. A691—special-execution subject. You will undergo ten hours of sundome torture."
"Sundome…?"
The word made my vision swim, but Yejin clearly had no idea what it meant.
Sundome—edging. The practice of bringing the genitals to the brink of climax and then stopping. Called "teasing" in some circles, it was a method of slowly devouring the mind through endless cycles of stimulation and denial. I had never experienced it myself, but in BDSM circles that prized sexual torment it was a well-known term.
"You'll understand once it starts. Next—A713."
My turn. I was supposed to be the regular death-row inmate. Whatever waited for me should have been a different order of magnitude from Yejin's torture.
Or so I thought.
"You are also a special-execution subject. Same sentence as A691."
"…What?"
"Next."
Wait—what?
For a second I thought I had misheard. I had been certain I was the one marked for death and the other two were special cases…
"A688. You are today's death-row inmate."
"Hic! U… uuhk…."
"You've been through an execution before, I see. And the moment you re-enrolled you landed right back on the list… Today I chose one of the higher-intensity methods, so either reflect properly… or…"
Or?
Ba'al drew the pause out on purpose. The words that finally left his mouth were merciless.
"…Die. Like a proper death-row inmate."
"Th-that's… mmpf! Mmph!!"
The instant he finished, a cloth gag was forced between A688's teeth. Beside Ba'al, her assigned officer Marmon walked off and returned carrying two objects: a pair of machines with rounded tips… and a thumb-thick iron spike together with a heavy hammer.